


Lessons in Communication

by not_quite_a_pencil



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Bottom Qrow Branwen, Established Relationship, Explicit Relationships, F/M, Fem Qrow Branwen, Genderbent Qrow Branwen, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, IronQrow, Ironwood x Qrow - Freeform, Mentons of Alcohol, Qrow Dealing with Feelings for Ozpin, Romance, genderbender, genderbent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:33:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22370347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/not_quite_a_pencil/pseuds/not_quite_a_pencil
Summary: Qrow has had many unhealthy relationships in her life, her band, her sister, her team, her professor and now her rival? Coworker? Friend? Lover? She doesn't quite know what to call her relationship with the stuck up Ironwood but she does know one thing. That they certainly know how to have a good time.
Relationships: Qrow Branwen/James Ironwood
Kudos: 32





	Lessons in Communication

Despite popular belief, Qrow still had moments of sobriety. It was during these times when she would think about her place in this war, searching all over Remnant for any sign of sign of the four maidens. She’d think about how she was a pawn for Ozpin to move and aim as he pleased, not that she didn’t know this when she signed on with the rest of Team STRK.

Plus it would give her an extra excuse to stay in touch with the strange old man, to be important enough for him to care. For those vague messages questioning her health and well-being, layered between mission reports and orders, that was enough for the bird. 

Enough to satisfy the schoolgirl crush that she just couldn’t seem to shake over her many years as a huntswoman. 

There was nothing significant about Ozpin’s personality if she was honest, he was playful but so reserved and guarded. He was clearly separate from the world that they lived in, probably from all of the lives that he had lived through. Despite that, she still thought of him fondly, finding herself imagining a life that she could never have with the man who gave her a purpose beyond bandits and tribes. She would think of a man who put value on herself and her abilities, who in turn gave her an opening to find value in herself.

While an interesting character, Qrow was never disillusioned about her place in the world. The same power that gave her an advantage in the field would only bring unnecessary struggles in civilian life. And so she moved and traveled, only stopping to rest here and drink there. Sometimes she would visit family, Tai-Yang and the girls. Those girls, so young and yet so powerful, would be what would keep her grounded through long marches and hard battles. The love of her family and her sense of duty to the ancient headmaster is what propelled her to strive and struggle. She couldn’t fall here, can’t die yet, Ruby’s birthday was next month and she promised she’d be there. She promised Yang that she would teach her how to ride a motorcycle when she was old enough. 

And then there were times when original family would find her in the field, and she’d take an extra day or two to recover from that. But that is what older sisters are for, right?

This is how the years after Summer’s fall would go, hazy weeks of traveling and fighting with small reprieves of niece giggles and home-cooking that was never quite right. It was edible, but how could someone turn a chicken purple? Needless to say Qrow was grateful when the girls eventually took over the cooking and Tai-Yang would be banished to wash the dishes. 

So when the timing of the Vytal Festival and her report back to Ozpin fell together it seemed like the right time to check in on her favorite huntsmen-in-training.

Of course, life was never that simple and by the time she was done ‘talking’ with the Ice Queen herself, Winter Schnee the prude, she was politely requested to go directly to the headmaster’s office and meet with Ozpin, Glynda and the assholes from Atlas.

And that meeting went as well is it could’ve for someone with bad luck. It was mostly arguing and pointing fingers as four strong personalities clashed in the office. Even though she wouldn’t admit it out loud, it was nice to have Ozpin worry about her, to offer concern for her wellbeing.

It was at the end of the meeting when everyone was leaving for their own jobs that Ironwood brushed up against her, a glove hand slipping a piece of paper into her rough hand with a whisper of: “Tonight, 2300 hours” before slipping off into the many halls of Beacon with hands tucked gracefully behind his back.  
Pfft. Prick.

Eleven, huh? Well looks like she has some time to kill before tonight’s entertainment, maybe she’ll find her nieces again. Thinking of the good times ahead Qrow smirk slyly as she pulled out a well-worn flask. 

Sounds fun.

Hot! It’s too hot!

Arms trapped pathetically above her head and body stretched without any reprieve left the woman panting desperately. 

Wrong, she was so wrong, this isn’t fun at all! She had lost track of how long she had been trapped by the vindictive general, left oversensitive and so desperate that even the rustling of sheets was too much for her. 

Her wild black hair, cropped to chin length for functionality, was damp with sweat mirroring the state of the worn down woman overall. 

“Da-Damn it! Fuck!” She bit at her bottom lip viciously as a cruel shudder ripped through her overstimulated body. “Fucking hell Jimmy!”

She refused to let out the pathetic whimper that fought against her throat as another wave of pleasure plowed through her mind, scrambling the thoughts she was desperately trying to collect. 

Qrow Branwen did not whimper. 

Until she did as the torture was amplified and her torso arched off the bed, slick skin reluctant to separate from lush sheets as her body tensed. Falling back onto the bed the woman was scrambling trying to find her breath, toes cycling through curling and relaxing as an outlet for the pressure.

There was a short pause and then a pair of thin lips were pressed to hers but only rested there for a second. “You don’t like your punishment Qrow?” The deep mirth irked the huntswoman to no end, she hated being left behind and out of control. “How many weeks were you gone with no word? I’d say you’re getting off easy.” Ironwood’s voice was gruff and gravelly from excitement, it had been too long since the two of them had shared a bed and he had been looking forward to making the rough huntress fall apart again. 

“Pfft. I don’t there’s any ‘getting off’.” The black haired woman flexed tentatively against her restraints, the heavy metal cuffs made with the standard styling of Atlas technology and letting out a haughty huff when her lungs caught up. “Communication’s a two way street Jimmy.” Another brief pause as glossy red eyes flared up in contest and retaliation. “And last I checked I don’t work for you General.” Qrow added on the title in mocking, and she was mildly pleased with her retort.

For a fraction of a second the rebellious woman thought she saw a flicker of emotion slip through the old soldier’s expression until her attention was violently ripped away as an intense wave of sensation forced its way through her body. This sensation was stronger than any of the previous and she let out a strangle sound in response, toes curling and flexing as her body reacted strongly to the rough stimulation.

A gruff ‘hmm’ came from above her as the general removed his hand from her folds, fingers separating to show a thin lines of liquid sliding down his smooth metallic fingers. 

“And let’s be grateful for that.”

James openly smirked down at the usually prideful woman now trapped within her own body by the pleasure he torturously supplied. Her wild nature made her impossible to truly tame, impossible to contain, and he liked that. She challenged his authority and fought back. She was rough and wild, all of the things that Atlas wasn’t. She was a refreshing reprieve from the strict regulations that responsibility placed on his shoulders.

He lived for the nights when she’d glide in, drink in hand and roaring to go. Although he would never divulge how much those nights meant to him. 

Or that his prosthetic hand had a vibration function that he had added just for his favorite huntress.


End file.
